This train's a round trip if I never get off.
It's all the same stops after a time
                 of fine flings and other things of
that nature                    to wait for.

This train's a round trip if you never get off.
Lots of seats are open now, you take
                       one but I'll be fine left standing,
'Cause I never sat on this line.

This train's a round trip if I think to get off.
Last train may never call. The windows
       may be tall and wide, but you won't get
Any closer to it all until you

This train's a round trip if you keep making transfers.
I'm only as sure of where I'm going as you.
                                                            ­            That's no fair.
I don't mean to keep the map up on your phone.

This train's a round trip if I can have my way.
I've been partial to the liminal in

the same way you've been to

This train's a round trip if you can't tell me off.
I run my mouth like a business
                                         the way my overtime is
unpaid until I start going south.

This train's a round trip until I learn to read.
For every symbol I've seen before, two more
      rise wearing like clothes but don't expect
me to know what they'll say.

This train's a round trip until the drunk falls a
sleep in the door drawing every eye but
                                                  shouting my name
Guy go to gym. Must be into fitness.

This train's a round trip until that woman in
heels stepped on my toe so hard a tear
                         obscured the sight of the most
apologetic bow I've ever received.

This train's a round trip until I'm at your stop.
I get off without you
most nights                          I'm lucky the trains
drive all on their own.

The train huffs and bellows;
Screeching tracks sparking
Waves of rolling roaring
Like stretched thunder,
Booming in rapid motion.

Above, a plane traces an arc
Of breathy fury, compressed
And exploding voraciously.
It erupts in ignited screams
Across the moon-lit sky.

Always, too, the forever pops
And sliding-low gurgling of cars
And trucks and motorbikes, vague
Ticks of missing-beats, sparse
Rumbles of howling engines and

Flashing sirens piercing
Continuous above it all.
A cat (probably) somewhere
Screams nearby.

All returns to normal.

On the train, I rest.

The longer the journey, the --


more rested I am.

I keep moving seats
elbows buddy elbows
    I keep moving seats
sir, do you have headphones some say earbuds?
it would appear not
    I keep moving seats
geezer's hoicking up a lung
    I keep moving seats
now we have a nutscratcher
with hairy legs akimbo
    I keep moving seats
maybe I should find this child charming but
he's doing my crust in poking my leg
    I keep moving seats
yes I enjoy listening to the sounds
of the bingo video game or like
whatever the **** do you mind
    I keep moving seats

all change
please all change

Every day on this train station,
I stand and wait for confirmation.
She's standing on the other side,
and lets her hair out in a glide.

Shadows spilling on the platform,
wind is blowing in my face.
Number 23 incoming,
she is getting on the train.

And as I stand on this train station,
she turns around in confirmation.
The train doors close, I wave goodbye.
We'll see each other in no time.

The air feels nice, the station – empty,
next train is scheduled, one of many.
A windy summer afternoon,
it's cool, it's quiet, it goes too soon.

You think I won't?
You see I will.
You better belie' me
I ain't even lyin'
This is real, guy.
This is what I meanne.
'nuff of this sh#t.
'full of sh#t...
This is change -
You jus see.

As the rain trails down the window,
Each droplet either standing alone,
or conjoining to form a stream.
Shadowed faces blur and shift,
as the river of souls pours into the train,
a moving gallery of stories
half-told, half-missed.

A woman with tired hands,
fingers ink-stained, smudging the page.
She writes in loops and pauses,
sorting through words that don’t yet exist.
A letter unsent? A memory unfinished?
Her lips move as if whispering to a ghost.

A man grips his suitcase tight,
knuckles white against the worn leather.
He checks the lock, once, twice, again,
he checks his ticket once, twice, thrice, again,
breathes in, breathes out—but it isn’t steady.
Is he running toward something,
or away?
Perhaps both feel the same.

A teenager watches the world smear past,
but their eyes are set inwards,
fixed on the watch in their palm,
a gift too heavy for their wrist,
but heavier still in meaning.
What used to be the time keeper of stories,
now only keeps the time for the last moments shared.
A whisper of "Take care now,"
a trembling wrinkled hand pressing it into theirs,
a last look before the train doors closed.

Behind them, the station fades,
a figure stands in the cold rain,
hand raised, but never quite waving,
face blurred by glass and distance.
They do not turn back.
Because turning back means hoping,
and hope makes leaving unbearable.

And I—just another reflection,
half-seen in the trembling glass,
a passing ghost among the living,
watching, never known.

writhing in
her mind
another hellscape
trapping anyone
who looks in her eyes
because the eyes are the windows
to the soul

she runs wild through
a forest of
whispering trees
calling out
but never to her

calling for the others
the betters
because she would never
be as good as them

how could they want her?

the trees whisper her name
as a crow flies above
a single feather falls

the train of shadows
moves on
stopping only
for her

she boards it
a single crow feather
as a pass
a boarding ticket
to the end of the world

the ghostly passengers stare
and turn away,
looking out the windows
to the white abyss
of snow

the endless rattling of the train
soothing
but unsettling

a bustling marketplace
when it stops
and she takes a step out the door

here they whisper too
she sees a knife glint
a golden coin falls

the train comes again

this time the pass
a gleaming gold

but now there is no train
only an umbrella
two boots
a raincoat
pouring rain
and a girl
in the middle of it all
the puddles reflecting
who she could've been
and who she was

but never her